Saturday, December 27, 2014

Dad's Biscuit Story

WARNING: No bourbon content.

When I was 11 or 12, my dad came into the room where my younger brother and I were watching television, and told us to join him in the kitchen. This was odd, but we did as requested and he told us this story.

"In May of 1936, Mom, Tom and I moved in together. We did okay financially because Tom was out of high school and working. With both of them working, I wound up doing most of the housework.

"One day Mom said that she wanted to talk. I was concerned that she was going to go into the birds and bees bit because she seemed serious and somewhat reluctant to begin.

"She told me a story that when her older sister, Gen, was born her father came to the realization that there was no one to bake his biscuits for breakfast. For him to not have hot, fresh biscuits for breakfast was unthinkable. After Grandma got on her feet again he had her teach him how to bake biscuits, which he then did whenever she was not able and even at other times when it was convenient.

"As their children were growing up Grandma, naturally, taught the girls the necessary skills, including biscuit baking. Grandpa saw to it that his sons could bake biscuits and made all of his children promise him that if they had any sons, they would make sure that the sons learned the art. Mom remembered her promise and said that it was time that I learned so she taught me.

"I not only enjoyed hot, fresh biscuits but I even enjoyed making them and it wound up that from then on I was the official biscuit baker in the household. I might add that this was well before Bisquick and long, long before biscuit dough in a tube."

At which point, dad taught Jim and me how to make biscuits, from scratch, not using Bisquick or dough in a tube as was already the norm in our household. He then imposed the promise on us. Since Jim died without issue and I likely will as well, the biscuit-making heritage of the Tucker-Cowdery family ends with me.

Chuck, perhaps you are resigned to the end of the tradition, but your post left me sad. I would urge you to pick children of a good friend, neighbor or coattail relative to pass this skill on. This is not some cancer cure, but yet It is a ritual that helps bind a family. It would be a shame for it to be lost.

I fear I've created a monster. I'm not holding out on you. There is little else to tell. It's flour and baking powder, normal ratio. Same with the lard. Roll the lard into pea-size balls, add to the flour, then use butter knives held between your fingers like Wolverine's claws to cut the lard into the flour until the consistency is uniform. Add enough milk to form a dough. Roll onto a floured board and cut with a water glass. Bake until brown. See, nothing special, but you insisted.

Something else to keep in mind for the people looking for lard: the lard you're likely referring to in the grocery store (e.g., "Snowcap") isn't necessarily what was available in the 50s and 60s. The modern stuff is hydrogenated, which not only makes it less healthy but also changes the consistency--you might as well use Crisco since the lard has lost its qualities that make lard different. I would recommend looking for real lard, or rendering your own, like h4rr4r has done.

Thanks for sharing the story Chuck. It may not be about the recipe for you but I'll say thanks again for sharing it. My late Grandmother used to make potato candy during the holidays. She showed me how to make it when I was about ten. Given it was not something made often and the nature of boys the how was forgotten for about the 30 years she has been gone. Thanks to the wonder of the internet I found the recipe some other kind soul posted. What little is left of my family was able to enjoy it and the memory of my Grandmother again.

There was a great biscuit story I heard in an interview with then former Maine governor Angus King. Probably apocryphal, but I still appreciate it. He wasn't from the state, but his son was just born here. So Angus ran out into the street saying, "My son's a Mainer, my son's a Mainer!" But some old duffer was there and replied, "Just cause a cat has kittens in the oven doesn't mak'em biscuits."